


The One Where Patrick Wears Panties

by das_kabinett (attentat)



Category: Bandom
Genre: Crossdressing, Lingerie, M/M, Safer Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-01
Updated: 2008-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-21 07:02:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/222242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/attentat/pseuds/das_kabinett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete hands the panties to Patrick in the morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Where Patrick Wears Panties

Pete hands the panties to Patrick in the morning.

He probably should have realized it was inevitable when he takes them, holds them gently between his fingers and wonders at the way the thin satin fabric catches against his calluses. They’re thin and lacy and the black fabric is dark against his pale skin; he can feel his breath catch, a little bit. But still, he can't just do this – it's insane, Pete can't really expect him to agree. He opens his mouth to protest, but then Pete just _looks_ at him, pupils too big. And Patrick probably would still bitch, even though the obvious way Pete wants it makes something squirm inside his stomach, if it weren't for the way that Pete is biting his lip, just a little.

It makes him vulnerable, and Patrick never could say no to Pete when he looked like that.

So Patrick wears them. They’re slick against parts that he isn't really used to having satin against, and the lace is sort of itchy, the elastic digging into his skin. When he goes to the bathroom, he runs his fingers down the red marks and shivers, something twisting in his stomach. He's turned on, has been turned on the entire day, through games of Guitar Hero and hours and hours of driving. It makes him feel exposed, in some weird way, even though he's not wearing any less than usual. He feels like everyone can see him, can see through him, and it makes him feel sort of bruised and raw. Like the panties have worn through his skin and left his insides open to the air.

He sort of likes it, and that makes him blush even more.

Andy even asks during lunch, he says, "Patrick, are you okay? You're all red."

And of course, Patrick blushes even harder and feels the lace panties press against his cock and says, "Oh yeah, I'm fine."

Andy looks suspicious and says, "Pete, what did you do?"

"Nothing!" he says, affronted.

Andy looks at him a long moment and then goes back to his veggie burger. Pete isn't grinning like a moron; Pete always grins like a moron after some sort of joke. Instead, his expression is shuttered and private and it makes Patrick even harder. See, the thing is -- Patrick feels like everyone can tell he's wearing black panties, but Pete _knows_ he is. Pete gave them to him.

Patrick finally has to excuse himself from lunch.

"Are you sure you are feeling okay?" Joe says, and Patrick just nods, pushing his pancakes away from him (he loves all day breakfast, but that is neither here nor there) and tossing a twenty on the table.

“Yeah, I’m just going to go lay down for a bit.”

When he stands up, the panties shift a little bit here into his ass and he can feel the material rub against his entrance. He hopes he isn't obviously hard, but he probably sort of is.

Pete is laughing at something Andy's saying, but Patrick sees his eyes flicker to Patrick's crotch. Patrick has to leave, _now_ , seriously.

He walks/hobbles back to his bus, trying to be surreptitious, making awkward small talk with a socially inept roadie, and ducking behind a dumpster when he sees that guitar tech from the opener who has a serious crush on him. Finally, _finally_ he is alone on the bus, sitting on his bunk, and he drops his hand to the front of his jeans, pressing his palm hard against his cock-- and then his phone vibrates in his pocket.

It's Pete.

 _get rdy but dnt touch ur cock_

Patrick laughs -- he can't help it, Pete's goofy teenage girl style texting combined with those words is just _funny_. Still hot, but funny and recognizably Pete. It stills something in his brain that was steadily freaking out, because this is Pete. They've done this before -- well, maybe not this sort of thing, exactly, but. It is Pete, who's fucked him and held him and got in shaving cream fights with him.

A few seconds later, he gets another text message.

 _dnt take of the panties_

The laughter dies and Patrick just takes a deep breath, hitching in his throat. If this wasn't happening, he would never have believed he would be this turned on by a scrap of ladies’ undergarments.

Patrick unbuttons his jeans, kicking them off, and reaches for the lube he hides in his pillow case. Moving the delicate fabric out of the way, he doesn't bother teasing himself and just sinks two of his own fingers in down to the knuckle. It burns and _oh my god_ , feels so good -- he can't help but groan, fill the silent bus with his voice. Pre-come stains the front of the panties, making the black fabric even darker.

He can feel himself stretch around his knuckles, can feel every part of his soft insides. His back is aching a little bit, but that makes it even better. All the small sensations of this are blending together and his brain seems to be unable to differentiate in importance – the slick feel of his sheets underneath him is just as hot as the press of his fingers against his prostate that sends his hips arching helplessly forward.

His eyes are shut so tightly he can feel the strain all along his eyes and all he can hear is his own panting and the soft slick sounds of his own fingers inside him.

And then the door shuts and he opens his eyes with a gasp.

Pete is staring at him and his eyes are even darker than they've been all day, strange and serious. It makes Patrick a little uncomfortable, because normally Pete is the silliest person Patrick has ever slept with, always giggling in bed and making bad jokes. He’s not joking now though, not at all, and it’s foreign in a way that it hasn’t been in years – it makes it hotter, really, a bit more like a one night stand or a first time. Patrick doesn't want to think about that too much.

Instead he slips another finger inside himself, watching Pete watch him. He’s never liked putting on a show before -- he's always objected to Pete's good-natured pleading to watch him jerk off. This seems different, somehow and he presses up into his fingers, his hips rising off the bed. Patrick can feel the panties digging into his skin and he can't help it, he moans.

This seems to force Pete into movement and he leans down, pulling Patrick up.

"Stand up," he says. "Stand up, stand up, stand up."

His voice is soft and fervent, and Patrick stands, his fingers slipping out of his ass. He’s shaking, jerky like he’s going to fall into a million pieces. Pete presses him into the side of his bunk, the thin metal digging into his back and nearly overloading Patrick's senses. Pete just leans into him for a long moment, pressing his nose into Patrick's skin, and just standing there, breathing in. His fingers dip down to press the soft lines made by the elastic in the panties. Suddenly, Pete bites him and then licks up his cheek, giggling.

"Relax," he says. Patrick laughs, shaky and breathy.

"Asshole," Patrick says.

"Hey," Pete says, sounding affronted. "I didn't do anything!”

He presses his fingers into Patrick's mouth and Patrick sucks willingly, his tongue slipping in between them. Pete falls to his knees, landing with a _thunk_ that probably hurt. He pulls his fingers away and sinks one of them deep into Patrick, with no preamble, like he’s testing to see if Patrick has followed his instructions. His mouth is hot and wet against the fabric, breathing against Patrick's cock. He moves forward, helplessly, and Pete's other hand presses him up hard against the bunk.

"Shhhh," Pete whispers into the soft satin. His tongue is hot and hard, rubbing Patrick’s cock through the fabric; Patrick whimpers, his hand dropping down to stroke at Pete’s hair as he moves up to bite the skin just underneath the panties.

Standing up, Pete undoes his pants with one hand and bites at the underside of Patrick's jaw. Pete leans over and snags the lube off the bed, still kissing and sucking at Patrick's skin, and slicks himself up with all his clothes still on. He releases Patrick's hip in order to put on a condom.

Pete moves the panties out of the way and presses in with no hesitation, in one smooth stroke. Patrick makes an embarrassing, awful noise and hooks his knee around Pete’s leg, pulling him closer, begging for it with everything he is. The panties are still on – he can feel them ripping a little bit from the strain of Pete pressing in, can feel the rub of his jeans against Patrick's skin.

It doesn't take Patrick long -- a few strokes, Pete's calloused hand firm and assured around him, and he's coming all over the both of them. He probably stained Pete's new shirt, he thinks, pressing his lips up underneath Pete's ear.

"Come on," he says. "Come on, I want to feel you – fuck. Pete. Pete--"

Patrick loves this, loves the moment between Pete’s orgasm and his own. He loves the burn of it – the way that he can feel every inch of Pete's cock, the way he gets to watch Pete’s face contort and gets to squeeze himself around him, feel him hitch in response. He loves being able to feel all of it without the sharp tug of his own orgasm, his own desperation –he loves being able to concentrate solely on Pete’s.

Pete makes a high pitched little noise and Patrick smiles into his skin, tasting the salt. "Fuck me, Pete. Fuck me--"

Pete grunts and arches his back, shoving in hard enough to hurt and comes. Patrick can feel the pulsing of his cock and the harsh squeeze of his fingers into his skin and the abrasive fabric of his jeans, the metal of the zipper digging into his skin. Pete slumps, leaning heavily on Patrick.

"I feel like a tree fell on me,” Patrick says, softly, his hands running up and down Pete's side.

"Fuck you," Pete says easily, still breathing hard. He slips out and Patrick winces at the loss, watching Pete tie the condom and dropping it on the floor, a habit Patrick’s never been able to break him of.

"Gross," Patrick says, but he lets himself be pushed back on the bunk. Pete sheds his jeans and shirt quickly, crawling on top of him. Pete must have some sort of cuddling superpowers or something, because he manages to entangle them within seconds, his hand slipping down and cupping Patrick's crotch.

"Good idea?" Pete says.

"Good idea."


End file.
